


Möbius

by tegary



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Missing Scene, Thorki-coded, complete for now, may come back to later, rocket doesn't deserve this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tegary/pseuds/tegary
Summary: Thor is unprepared for the pure, unadulterated rush of emotion that he receives when his feet land solidly on the palace floor.A missing scene that I would have liked to see in Avengers: Endgame.





	Möbius

**Author's Note:**

> (crawls out of my year-long, unexpected hiatus to bring you endgame content)

Thor is unprepared for the pure, unadulterated rush of emotion that he receives when his feet land solidly on the palace floor.

They’d chosen the dungeons for their drop point—more cover in the relative darkness, less chance Thor might accidently cross paths with his past self. Earlier, he had spared a moment imagining himself coming face-to-face with the Thor from this timeline: so sure of himself and his power and his place in the world, capable of protecting those he loved. Thor wonders, bitterly, if this past version of himself would even recognize the man that he has become.

“Hey, sadsack,” Rocket hisses, bringing Thor back to the present. “You with me?”

For all of his caustic remarks and irreverent nicknames, Thor has known Rocket long enough that he can pinpoint the mite of concern in the creature’s tone. The half-grimace that Thor offers in return can hardly be called a smile, though Thor sorely wishes that he could offer even a modicum of genuine reassurance (to himself, even).

“Yeah, that’s a no.” The creature makes a half-aborted move to pat Thor’s bicep before he seems to think better of it. “Let’s just get you out of here as fast as we can.”

Even the quiet, stale uniformity of the dungeons holds a sense of _home_ for Thor that he hasn’t felt since Asgard’s demise. As he leads Rocket down the spiraling hallways, keenly aware of his every footfall, Thor can’t keep himself from pressing his palms against the cobbled stone, desperate to soak some of Asgard’s essence back into his own soul. He balks to think of how he might react to the upper levels of the palace—the shaded balconies where he used to laze his days away, the sun-warm training grounds imbued with his own blood and sweat, the polished marble hallways where he used to chase—

“Tampering with timelines is quite the sticky business.”

Thor’s whole world narrows to one blindingly hot-white point.

“I wouldn’t advise it, myself. I’d probably do it, but that doesn't mean I’d advise it.”

His body reacts as if by its own accord, and Thor is suddenly pressed up behind a stone pillar, heartbeat raging against his agonizingly tight chest. He can’t draw a breath. Bruce had warned him that he should be prepared to confront the ghosts of his past—Jane, or Odin, or his mother, even. But this was the one ghost that Thor wasn’t prepared to face. The one ghost that he hadn’t even the time to properly mourn.

“How did you know?” Rocket asks, giving Thor a furious side-eye from where the creature is now standing, alone and exposed, in the middle of the corridor. Thor doesn’t notice, though. He’s too busy remembering too-pale skin, and gasping blue lips, and the sound of a body thudding against metal.

A scoff.

“Please,” Loki drawls, sounding entirely uninterested, and Thor loves him dearly for it. “I was raised by the most powerful spell-weaver in this world and the next. You’d think I’d be able to identify a doubled temporal signature.” The sound of a book closing. He hadn’t seen Thor.

It’s taking every ounce of willpower Thor has left in his body to keep himself still. His soul is singing at the sound of Loki’s voice, so familiar, so intimate, so known to Thor’s very being that hearing only a few words spoken in its timbre has healed something basely sick inside of him. His heart begs for a sight of Loki—just to see his brother well and whole again, alive and breathing and not colored in swaths of blue and purple and sickly yellow. But Thor is _terrified._ Terrified of what the sight might do to him, terrified of what the sight of _him_ might do to Loki.

“So tell me, rabbit,” Loki continues, and Thor sees Rocket stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “What business do you have in this timeline?”

The vision of Loki’s still body is beginning to fade from in front of Thor’s eyes, and his mind has cleared enough that he notices Rocket making desperate movements with the hand that he has hidden behind his back. He’s asking for Thor’s help, though Thor is uncertain of how much help he might be in this moment. This version of Loki despises him. The Loki of this timeline has been tortured, and abused, and pieced apart, only to then be beaten down and humiliated. And the only kindness Thor offered him was the sharp bite of a steel muzzle.

“I’m, uh,” and Thor’s not sure he’s ever heard Rocket flounder before. “I’m looking for a chick named Jane. Know where she is?”

Thor bites into his cheek hard enough that he tastes blood. While Loki had developed a begrudging respect for Jane during their journey to destroy the Aether, the Loki of this timeline sorely resents her for reasons that Thor isn’t ready to admit to himself quite yet. He’s scrambling to think of the best way to pantomime a change of subject to Rocket when Loki’s voice interrupts him.

“It’s entirely possible. If you’ll consider letting me out of my…accommodations, I’ll consider telling you what I know.”

“Depends on why you’re in there in the first place,” Rocket counters. The hand he’s hiding behind himself is now prominently displaying his middle finger—a gesture that, Thor had learned from Tony, does not hold the politest of connotations.

The familiar note of Loki’s laugh is tinged dark and bitter. “It’s a long story,” He responds, and the creak of springs allows Thor to imagine that Loki’s perched back down at the edge of his cot. Thor himself had picked the sheets that adorn Loki’s sleeping arrangements—they were the same that, once upon a time, had covered their shared bed as children. In fact, many of the items in Loki’s cell had come from Thor—a few of the books, the chair, and the bottle of elderberry juice displayed on Loki’s side table had all been passed to the prison guards at Thor’s behest.

A book on Midgardian folklore and a quart of juice had been, Thor realizes, a poor substitute for his own presence. He had wanted to visit sorely, and had attempted to do just that many a time. But, for some reason, he could never get past the first step of the dungeon staircase. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to see Loki—he had—rather, there was something inside of him that was afraid of facing his own guilt in the matter. At first, it had been over losing Loki—over being physically unable to stop him from falling from the Bifrost. But, after the battle of New York, Thor had realized that his true feelings of guilt came from elsewhere—from his failure to recognize that Loki had been hurting. From his inability to be the brother and friend that Loki had needed.

“Is your friend going to join us, soon?” Loki asks after a moment more, and Thor’s thoughts jerk to a violent stop.

“My friend?” Rocket intones, just this side of nonchalant, and Loki’s responding hum is lukewarm at best.

“Like I told you, I was raised by the most skilled spell-caster in the nine realms. And yours is not the only repeated energy that I’m sensing.”

He’s not ready. He’s sorely underprepared, and he should have gone somewhere—anywhere other than Asgard. They could have used his help in New York—or the team headed to Vormir. But as Rocket turns to look Thor in the eyes, gesturing for him to step out into the quiet corridor, Thor realizes that fate has given him one last chance with the brother he so miserably failed.

Contrary to Thor’s expectations, Loki’s eyes light with recognition as soon as he steps out from behind the pillar. His brother jolts to his feet, hands clenched tight behind his back.

“Th—” He stops, tongue caught between his teeth like he can’t quite force Thor’s name from his throat.

He succeeds the second time. “ _Thor?_ What in the nine realms—”

Thor’s knees unlock, and he takes a few unsteady steps, enough to bring him to a halt in front of the magical barrier that makes up the walls of Loki’s cell. His brother flinches back when one of Thor’s palms comes up to press against it.

“How do you open this?” Thor’s voice is rushed and inelegant, foreign to his own ears.

“Do you think I'd still be here if I knew the answer to that question?” Loki snaps, mouth set in a scowl but eyes still distant in shock. “It’s a good thing to know that your intelligence level never changes, regardless of timeline.”

The barking laugh that sounds sends Loki back another aborted half-step, and it startles Thor just as badly until he realizes that it’s coming from his own throat. It takes almost no time at all for the sound to turn choked with tears, and Thor drops his head, hand curling into a fist against the pearlescent barrier.

“Thor—” Rocket starts behind him, but he’s interrupted by Loki’s sharp voice.

“ _Thor._ Look at me.” And look Thor does, taking in Loki’s equal parts furious-and-bewildered expression through blurry eyes.

“ _Tell me what’s going on,”_ Loki demands unsteadily, Thor’s contagious desperation obviously starting to have an impact on him, as well.

“I’m sorry.” And it’s all Thor can say, all Thor can _think._ “I’m sorry, Loki, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“ _Thor.”_ And Thor’s eyes jump back up to his brother, who is glaring at him with an intensity that Thor never thought he’d miss. Loki, ever the smooth operator. He’s already recovered from his shock, while Thor is still rocked to the core by an event that happened near five years ago in his own timeline. How Thor could have learned from his baby brother, if he had just taken a moment to see him, truly.

“Shut up. As much as I’m delighted by your groveling apologies, I need you to tell me why you’ve come here.” And as Loki slowly lowers himself down to the floor of his cell, Thor realizes that he’s slipped to his own knees without noticing. His shaking knuckles are propped against the cold stone floor of the dungeon.

The soft _tap-tap-tap_ of Loki’s fingertips against the barrier re-focus Thor’s attention.

“Something must have gone incredibly wrong for _you_ , the least cosmically knowledgeable being I know, to risk a timeline split to return here.” Loki’s voice almost sounds _concerned,_ and when Thor looks back up, they’re eye-to-eye, with Loki sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cell, fingertips still lingering at the barrier. When Thor raises his hand to meet them, this time, Loki doesn’t shy away.

“Tell me what you know,” Loki urges.

“You’re dead,” Thor breathes after a moment more. Instead of looking horrified like Thor had expected, though, Loki only sighs.

“Your bedside manner is as impeccable as ever,” he deadpans, but his tired eyes hold a spark of long-missed mischief.

“You’re not upset?”

“Upset?” And Loki removes his hand from the barricade, letting it fall back to his lap. Thor misses it immediately. “I knew death would come for me eventually. It comes for us all, Thor, even Asgardians. It’s not surprising that he came for me first.”

“He,” and something twinges, sharp, in Thor’s chest. “Loki, you know by whose hand you die.”

“Then you know on whose behest I attacked Midgard,” Loki responds, rubbing his fists against his eyes. He looks so _tired,_ Thor thinks. He barely remembers the first time he had visited Loki in these dungeons, so out of his mind with worry for Jane and devastated at the loss of their mother. But his brother’s eyes are ringed purple with exhaustion, and his dark hair falls to his shoulders in unkempt waves. He’s been neglecting himself. Thor weakly palms his own matted hair and muses that he knows the feeling.

“Thanos,” Thor says, the first time he’s allowed that name to pass his lips in a long, long while. Loki physically flinches back an inch, but rights himself just as fast.

_So strong. So much stronger than Thor had been._

“He…he wins, Loki.” And it threatens to overtake him again, the same fear and guilt and utter desperation that Thor had felt when he had come back to himself to find his friends beginning to turn to dust. The same feeling of utter failure and _loss_ that had taken his heart when Loki’s cold body hit the ground on the Ark.

“He hasn’t,” and Thor’s head pops up, caught midway in another tide of grief.

“He hasn’t what?” He forces past his rapidly-closing throat.

“He hasn’t _won,_ Thor,” Loki presses, hand coming back up to the barrier. His eyes are flinty green, full of fire and life and _fight._

Thor’s hands fist against the dingy sweatpants he’s wearing, mouth twisting into a scowl. “Half of the universe’s population is dead, Loki,” He growls. “You’re dead. Many of my friends are dead. It certainly _seems_ like he’s won.”

“ _No,_ you idiot.” And Thor’s head jerks up, teeth bared in a frustrated snarl, only to be stopped by Loki’s smile. It's no more than a small upturn of the sides of his mouth, but Thor can’t even place the last time he saw it and it throws his world so askew that any anger he felt dissipates like snow in the sun.

“You’re _here,_ Thor, you’re alive. He hasn’t won.”

Realization blooms in Thor’s chest, and, soon, the sides of his mouth are tipping to mirror Loki’s own. The laugh he releases this time hurts deep in his chest, but soon a feeling of pure relief wells up to soothe away the rock that had taken up permanent residence there. He leans forward to rest his forehead against the wall.

“There are three teams,” He explains, giddy in the feeling of being _known_ again. “Each of us have been tasked with retrieving one or two of the stones. If we can collect them before Thanos can, we can use them to bring everyone back.” _But not you,_ he doesn’t add, looking up to see Loki watching him with a strange look upon his face.

_He knows._

“You know that taking the stones from their native timelines will doom said timelines,” Loki points out, shifting a bit so that his elbow is propped up on one of his thighs. He rests his face on his hand. “And create new, branching timelines starting from the point where the stone was removed.”

“Banner has a running theory that if we replace the stones in their respective timelines at the moment that they were taken, it should reverse any changes that were made by taking the stones in the first place.”

“A running theory,” Loki muses, long, thin fingers tapping at his cheekbone in thought. “That’s…reassuring.”

It grows quiet. Thor is beginning to come down off of the giddy high that Loki’s company has given him, and his rational brain is starting to realize that, perhaps, blurting the entirety of their plan to Loki wasn’t the best decision that he’s ever made. After all, this is not yet the Loki that gave his life to protect Thor not once, but twice (even if the first time was _technically_ faked) or the Loki that returned to fight side-by-side with Thor against Hela’s armies.

“…tell me how I die?” Loki asks, not meeting Thor’s gaze. He’s begun to pick at his cuticles, a nervous gesture that he shares with Frigga.

“You really want to know?” Though Thor studies him searchingly, Loki continues to steadfastly stare at his hands. His index finger has begun to bleed sluggishly. If only to save what remains of the nail, Thor begins to speak.

“You…you save me, Loki,” Thor begins cautiously, both desperate to stave off another wave of all-consuming grief and uncertain as to how much he should tell his brother of his own demise. Banner’s explanation of timelines and the damage that could be done to them was rudimentary at best, and part of Thor wonders if he might not be able to save the Loki of this timeline by setting him free and telling him to run far, far away. Another part of Thor realizes that if their plan succeeds, and they survive to replace the Aether in its rightful place in this timeline, there’s a chance Loki might not even remember that they’ve had this conversation.

“I save you?” And now Loki does look up, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You must find an absolutely extravagant way to make everything up to me, as right now I’m fairly prepared to kill the current version of you myself.”

_Ah. He’s been a fool. Loki is Loki, no matter what timeline they inhabit. This is the Loki that betrays him, this is the Loki that saves him, this is the Loki that fights with_ _him._

_This is the Loki that loves him._

As Thor begins to laugh, Loki leans forward, joining Thor where his forehead is pressed against the crystalline magic separating them. How Thor wishes he could lower the barrier between them and gather his brother up in a hug. How he wishes he had gotten the chance to make good on his teasing promise on the Ark, before everything had been stripped away.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” He says, after his laughter subsides.

“What for?”

“I’m just…I’m sorry. For everything.” Thor supplies weakly. Loki is contemplatively silent for a moment.

“Alright,” he says. When Thor sits back, straightens up, Loki is smiling again.

Their time has come to a close. They can both sense it. Both brothers stand, facing each other again through the magical barrier, like Thor remembers once happened long ago.

“Loki,” Thor starts, and his brother tips his head. “Do me a favor.”

“For you? No.”

“Hurtful,” Thor snorts, and Loki’s smirk tilts even more sideways. “Soon, I will come to you and ask you to do something for me— _with_ me. Consider going?”

“I suppose I can _consider,”_ Loki drawls, green eyes alight. Thor’s chest aches fiercely.

“And this time? Don’t bother faking your death. You’re losing your touch. I can tell.”

Loki’s jaw drops open an inch, about as successful as Thor’s ever been at surprising his brother. He hides his snicker behind the guise of a cough as Loki shakes his head, gathers himself again.

“And since I’m being so generous as to consider your request, I have a request of my own.”

“Oh? And what might that be?"

“You’re an Avenger, aren’t you?” And it’s Thor’s turn to startle, looking up to meet Loki’s flinty green gaze.

“Avenge me.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I figure Rocket said 'screw this' about halfway through and went off to get the Aether himself.)
> 
> Forgive any mistakes in terms of how time travel works in the MCU--still trying to wrap my head around it.
> 
> I also apologize if my writing & characterization is a little rusty--it's been a while.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Möbius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858340) by [Cvetok1105](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cvetok1105/pseuds/Cvetok1105)




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